My phone buzzes with a text from Benedetto:Boris Petrov confirmed in the city. Three hotels, rotating locations every six hours.
Business. The one thing that still makes sense when everything else has turned upside down.
I type back:Meeting tomorrow. Need updated security protocols.
Already arranged. But boss…
I wait for him to finish the thought.
The men are asking questions. About her. About your priorities.
My jaw clenches. I know what they’re asking. When did Alaric Moretti start making decisions based on emotion instead ofstrategy? When did a woman become more important than the organization?
What kind of questions?
Whether you’re still capable of making hard choices. Whether you’d sacrifice business interests to keep her safe.
The answer should be easy. The family comes first. The business comes first. Individual lives, even precious ones, can’t be allowed to compromise the empire that provides for hundreds of people.
But as I sit here in the dark, whiskey burning my throat, I know the truth. If protecting Kasimira meant burning down everything I’ve built, I’d strike the match myself.
That makes me weak. Compromised. Dangerous to everyone who depends on me for survival.
Tell them their concerns are noted,I type.And remind them who signs their paychecks.
Yes sir.
I set the phone aside and finish my drink, staring out at the lights of a city that used to feel like mine. Now it feels like a hunting ground where my enemies circle closer every day, looking for weakness they can exploit.
They won’t have to look long.
Footsteps in the hallway interrupt my brooding. Kasimira appears in the doorway, wearing one of my shirts and a concerned expression.
“Can’t sleep?” she asks.
“Didn’t want to wake you.”
She crosses to the bar and pours herself a small glass of wine, moving carefully to avoid jarring her shoulder. “Bad dreams?”
“Something like that.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I study her face in the dim light. Ten days ago, she took a bullet meant for me. Three hours ago, she gave herself to me with a trust that humbles me. She deserves honesty, even if the truth might drive her away.
“I’m terrified,” I admit.
“Of what?”
“Of you. Of this. Of what you’ve done to me.”
She settles into the chair across from mine, tucking her legs beneath her. “What have I done to you?”
“Made me fall in love with you.”
The words come out raw, unfiltered. I expect her to recoil.
Instead, she smiles. “Is that so terrible?”
